Remnants of a Madman
by TaleForge
Summary: Set after the original Fire Emblem for GBA. Nergal is defeated, his mad schemes against humanity thwarted. But what happens when a shade of his greatest power returns? Read and review please
1. A Random Attack by Brigands

_Just for the heck of it, I decided to slap this together. It is based on the first Fire Emblem (Having nothing to do with the real story), since I never played the newer one. Any characters I may end up inadvertently mentioning is not my property, but I will try to use characters that are my own creation._

**Chapter One**

_And a random attack by brigands_

In retrospect, they weren't really all that threatening, those bandits. However, they had some sense when they decided to attack the village. It didn't have much in the way of external defenses, not even a palisade to repel a small group. On top of that, they were no small group. On the contrary, they were a nigh company, at least a score and a half strong. Their leader also was a very sensible man, as far as brigands went, and under his leadership, they had shortly taken the peaceful hamlet as their new base of operations.

Benton was one of the few in the village actually of fighting age. He was forced to stay in his house, separated from anyone who could help him. He looked at the guards posted at his door, silently formulating a plan.

Meanwhile, a diminutive cloaked figure was backed into a corner, waving a dagger menacingly despite the obvious hopelessness. "Stay back! Don't come any closer, or I'll…"

The trio of thieves laughed. One of them grabbed the figure's thin arm, the weapon clattering harmlessly to the paved stones. The aggressor's free arm took off the wincing figure's hood, revealing the face of a young girl.

"Oy! Lookit, ee's just a lil' lass!" One of the flanking brigands laughed, "She thinks she can tak'is by 'er lonesome?"

The point thief sneered, an evil glint coming to his eyes, "So young… oh, the things I'm gonna do to you before I kill you!" That brought a chuckle from the group, "Don't worry mates, I'll leave some for you two…"

The young lady spat defiantly on her captor's face. With a growl, she was thrown to the ground, a dagger held at her chest.

"That's quite enough, blackguards!" All four of them turned to the voice, the girl beaming with delight, as the heavily armored man continued, "I offer you but one chance to apologize and walk away before I make you regret ganging up on an innocent child."

**Back to the boy…**

Benton saw his chance. He ran for the left guard, tackling him to the ground. He reached for the weapon the hapless bandit left leaning against the wall, a lance, and brought it to block just as the second brought a sword down. He brought the weapon high and lashed out with his foot, causing his opponent to fall back with a sizable hole in his defense, which Benton took no time taking advantage of. With a quick motion, he stabbed his opponent and withdrew the lance the moment he felt it break through flesh. He whipped around and stabbed down on the first guard who was just starting to get up.

In less than a minute, Benton was looking over two mortally injured men. His heart leapt in his chest, and he almost was sick, but anger quickly superseded any disgust he may have felt at what he had to do. He marched solemnly to a hut where two more thieves guarded. He raised his new weapon and finally found the nerve to speak.

"I am Benton Tempuer! First-born and only child of a man you so ruthlessly murdered! Release the woman you have imprisoned and I may be lenient with your lives!" He winced as the enemies began a bout of raucous laughter, "Then you leave me no choice; in the name of the Family Tempuer, prepare to feel my steel grate your heart." And he ran, weapon raised with intent to kill.

**Scene change! Yay!**

The armored man had his weapon in his hands in a flash, heavy sword grating along the ground as he advanced. The closest brigand had brought his ax in some semblance of a defense, but it was not enough. The sharpened steel hacked through the handle and continued along to the poor enemy's vulnerable torso.

The man spun around just in time to knock aside an arrow the second flank thief managed to fire off. The armored figure leapt into the air and cut the bowyer down with an overhand chop.

The last remaining man, the one over the little girl, panicked, grabbing the young lady and placing the knife over her throat. "Don't move, I will cut her! I will, don't you doubt that."

The armored man sighed, "You fight with a dagger, taking a hostage to gain an advantage, _and_ you hide behind numbers as you terrorize the masses? What kind of man do you think you're trying to be?"

"Shut up! Don't move, or I will kill her! Besides, what would you gain helping her?" He jostled the dismayed girl.

The man sighed again, resting the sword over his shoulder, "You're right, perhaps I should leave that little girl to you. After all, she's so annoying. I might actually get some peace and quiet without…"

"_Walter?_" The little girl could not hide the pleading tone in her voice, or the tears welling in her eyes.

Walter looked shocked and annoyed at once, "Nora! I told you that I am called Grenbien when I work!" His face softened when he heard her begin to sob faintly, "Fret not, I suppose I'll play the hero again."

The thief held her tighter, "Hey! You're not saving anyone, you hear me? If you think of turning that sword on me, I'll…"

"Kill her?" Walter/Grenbien finished, feigning disgust, "Is that the only line you can bear to say in this situation. I assumed you would be able to think clearer when you thought you were in control of the situation, however untrue that may be." He enjoyed the look of surprise on his face as the brigand was blasted with a pure aura. Nora got out from under the thief's thumb as Walter came crashing in, Light Brand leading the way.

**I notice scene changes happen a lot in this first chapter…**

Just inside the building where Benton fought valiantly, a young woman huddled in a corner, clutching a book to her chest tight, "What's going to… happen to me here?" she asked the cloaked man who was busy sharpening his knife.

The man turned his amber eyes in her direction and offered the warmest smile he could muster, given the circumstances, "That depends." He said simply, putting down his whet stone, "First off, whether or not those two sluggards can deal with that gnat outside."

"And second?" she pressed, trying in vain to mask her fear.

The man stood, putting the knife on the chair and approaching slowly with his hands raised, "Second is whether or not you can cooperate with us." He knelt down, his face level with hers, despite her growing unease, "Can you keep a secret, young miss?"

The woman stared at him bewilderment before slowly nodding.

"Good, that's good." The man rose and moved back to his seat, "To tell you the truth, I never really cared for the life of a thief. Too much competition and no steady wages, you know? I'm thinkin' of switching tracks before it's too late. I'd like to start now, by saving you."

The girl brightened immediately, "You'd really do that? Oh thank you, I'd…"

"I'm not finished." He continued, "As I was about to say: The only real problem is, being a hero is nice and all, but there's nothing in it for me. Mayhap I'd consider it if there was some incentive…" He let the thought hang, his smile growing wider but not nearly as warm.

The woman stood, half listening to the man, half listening to the scuffle outside, which seemed to be winding down. She bowed with reverence, "I beg of you to help me, though I have no money to give to you."

The thief chuckled, walking back to her and running a hand through her hair, "Madam, rest assured I want no money from you. Why I have enough of that, more so if I become a hero. No, I think there is something you can offer me that is just a little bit more desirable than coin."

Was he… he was! The woman's face darkened unseen by the posturing cloaked man. She stared intently at the book she still held in her arms, and silently began muttering.

"Come now, Ma'am." The thief enticed, "What is there to think of? I am offering you salvation from these wretched murderers and cutthroat scumbags. Come now, what say you?"

His smile faded quickly as he saw the tome begin to glow. A very upset woman stared into his eyes and screamed but one word.

"Fire!"

_What think? Please leave a review. Power in words, I'm out._


	2. When One Throws Tactics Out the Window

**Chapter Two**

_When one throws tactics out the window_

The only words coming from Benton's mouth was a long and steady stream of curses as he was over-powered and driven back by the two lance-toting guards. He had caught _his _captors by surprise, and he was fast regretting facing them openly as he narrowly avoided stabs and bludgeons.

Damn! He was already beginning to tire. The damned brigands were toying with him, teasing him with false stabs and wearing him down. By Saint Elemine, they were _enjoying _themselves. His movements were starting to slow down, his arms were getting too heavy to lift.

There was a moment's hesitation from both sides, however, as the sounds of battle were quickly drowned out by a rumbling explosion, followed by a yelp and a few crashes. The reasonably attractive thief from inside was sprawled on the ground, covered in soot and parts of the door he unceremoniously barreled through, groaning softly in pain. Those groans intensified as the young lady strode out of the hut, livid, and planted one foot on the limp man's chest. She glared at the two remaining thieves nearby-the ones who had Benton in a corner-snarling like a hungered beast.

The boy took no time in taking advantage of his opponent's turned backs, plunging his borrowed weapon into the closest of the two. The second spun around, now quite frustrated with these children, but before he could take any measure of offensive action, his back stiffened as it took a fireball, and he fell to his knees, mouth open in a silent scream. Benton smacked the opponent on the nose with the butt of his weapon, ending his agony permanently.

The two remaining teens both looked from the bodies left on the ground-at least two of them weren't liable to live for very much longer-then back to each other. They moved towards each other, slowly at first, then breaking into a run. They embraced for a short while, both desperately finding something to break the silence.

From the other side of town, their captors' buddies were beginning to stir. Benton silently cursed again, suddenly regretting not hiding the bodies back at his hut. "Sylva," he whispered, coaxing the lady to move, "We need to get away before we're spotted."

Sylva nodded, reluctantly backing up. She motioned for an alleyway, and they both soundlessly fled.

"What's going on?" Sylva asked after a while of running, her fear resurfacing, "What's going to happen to us?"

Benton hesitated, "I… don't know… really." He stopped, taking a deep breath and began assessing the situation.

"They have the entire place. From what I could gather, Everyone our age has been imprisoned separately to keep from conspiring until they could decide what to do with us, but all the old people are probably…" he was about to say "dead", but after a quick glance at the expectant girl before him, face contorted in fear, he realized she had already pieced that together.

"…held in one place." He finished, watching her relax somewhat.

"So what can we do?" she asked, her tone insistent. Before Benton could answer, their attention was out to the street, where the steady chimes of a bell could be heard. Benton cursed out loud this time. The bandits were scrambling; they had found the bodies, just like he feared. He grabbed Sylva by the arm and led her further into the alleys.

"Benton?" Sylva asked as much as demanded, "What are we going to do?"

He stopped, almost forcing her to crash, and whispered dangerously, "Don't speak." He clamped his hand over her mouth before she could respond, "Someone is coming; don't speak or you'll give us away."

He raised his lance, hoping his loud gulp wasn't heard…

**Meanwhile…**

"I can't believe what trouble you've gotten us both into!" Walter growled, half leading, half dragging the girl Nora behind him as he marched through the alleys.

"Well-Ow!-…you didn't have to follow me!" Nora complained, though she knew full well that he couldn't, her knight in shining armor.

Walter turned his gaze to hers, and she would have froze right there, were it not for his vice grip keeping her moving forward, "And leave you, a girl, out here with these blackguards and no escort?" He turned his head forward, but his accusing tone slowed her just as much as his leer ever did, "You did it on purpose! You walked into this city so I could fight them!"

"But…but…but they took over the village! Why couldn't you do something about it first? Could you honestly look at these people and not help them?"

Walter plodded on, unaware of her winces of pain as his grip tightened, "If you wanted to help them so bad, we could have gone to a garrison, asked _them _to help their own people, and I wouldn't have had to sully my blade needlessly with coward's blood." He stopped, giving her his coldest gaze, "Your actions have endangered us both and has not helped anyone; for that, I hope you realize your sublime folly and make that mistake no more. If you do this again, know that I will not come to save you!"

Nora fell to her knees, near on the verge of tears. In the short time they had been traveling together, the child had never seen him look at her like that. "I…I…hic! I'm…I'm…" she stammered, shoulders heaving with sobs.

The armored man sighed. Boys were so much easier to raise, he decided for what had to be the thousandth time since Nora started following him. At the very least, they could be hit without having to hold back. He was pulled from his thoughts however, by the shadow moving just ahead. There was someone there, waiting for him to walk past. He motioned for Nora to be still and silent, drew his sword, and burst past the corner swinging.

Benton ducked as the fine blade whistled past his head and backpedaled. He raised his weapon, and Walter in turn raised his when he recovered from the miss.

"You have a woman in tow." The swordsman observed, his gaze drifting to the young lady, who now had her spell book cracked open.

"So? You have one too." Benton replied, him glancing at the girl who was hiding at the alley corner.

Walter nodded, "Is she your prisoner, perchance?"

"Never!"

Another nod from the man before he slid his sword back into its sheath, "Very well then." He said, satisfied with the boy's answer, "Then I am not your enemy, on my word. My name is Walter Nollim, though while my blade is drawn I am known as Grenbien. Do you have a name, boy, or shall I simply refer to you as 'Hey you!'?"

Benton nodded but did not lower his weapon, "I am Benton Tempuer, and I am not known as anything when I fight. If you are not an enemy, then please stand aside so we can go…" he trailed off. He suddenly realized he had no idea of what to do now, with Sylva free and the bandits looking for them.

Such was not lost on Walter (Or was it Grenbien now?) who smiled and said, "Go where? Do you intend to leave the village? Are you going to play the big savior and liberate the town? Maybe you're going to hide somewhere and cower like a baby with the women."

Benton was just about to answer, when he heard the call. Bandits began filling the narrow space, advancing from behind. A slew of curses erupted from both of the men before they all ran off in the opposite direction. They burst from the alley, finding themselves in the center of town. They were wreathed by bandits on all sides, with no obvious escape routes. Just outside the town hall building, a tall man stood. He had pale skin, hair falling past his shoulders, with fiery amber eyes, dressed in the robes of a sage.

"Are you in league with these men?" Grenbien inquired, sword already halfway out.

The pale man chuckled, "Do you honestly believe I would associate myself in the ranks of these barbarians?"

Benton relaxed visibly, despite the obvious danger. The sage spoke again. "Bolting." His voice was so sedated and nonchalant that Benton wasn't at first aware of its meaning. He looked up confused, to see the man drawing the seal of Anima magic and released the spell, aimed right for them.


	3. The Weaver of Souls

**Chapter Three**

_The Weaver of Souls_

Walter dove to the side just as the lightning came crashing down and rolled, pulling his blade out as he rose to his feet again. He turned to find Nora, who was busy trying to convince Sylva to stand back. He then turned to Benton, "Tempuer, we attack together, agreed?"

Benton nodded, and they both ran for the sage. The robed man smiled, his next attack flying from his lips. He brushed aside the lance tip, ducking over the blade in the same motion. "Thunder." Benton froze as the bolt of lightning clipped his back, and he smelled his singed tunic as he tried to force his limbs to move.

Sylva tried to ignore Nora's constant prodding as she opened her spell book. "Come on!" the younger girl whined, "We need to get out of here and…"

"How are we going to do that?" Sylva interrupted, her gaze never leaving the words inscribed in the old tome, "If you can find a way for us to get out through _that…_" she made a brief motion to the leering and snickering men that had them penned in, "… I'd be happy to leave with you. Now leave me alone." The next words to leave her mouth were the runes of her next attack.

Another stab from Benton, and the sage seemed to slide aside, as though he were standing on ice. His hand calmly rose to catch the heavy blade. Grenbien gaped open-mouthed in amazement; though his opponent showed obvious discomfort holding the Light blessed weapon, no blood came from the open wound the warrior was sure was there. The sage's free hand came up to intercept the incoming lightning bolt-to Sylva's equally open-mouthed astonishment –and redirected it to blast into Grenbien and send him back almost into the expectant throng.

Benton worked in an utter frenzy, stabbing and thrusting, punching and kicking, desperately trying to land a hit on the undeniably calm sage. He was casting again, but something was weird. He was not producing the normal Anima seal; this one was black and seemed to be sparking and wavering as he summoned it. Sylva cried out "Dark magic!" just a moment too late, and before Benton could properly react, black tendrils of malignant energy wrapped around his legs, anchoring him to the ground as more of the cursed tentacles rose from the ground.

"Fools…" The sage chuckled, his mirth harboring a hint of bloodlust, "…to think you could stand against Morph. I am a being far beyond your comprehension of power; you should have thrown yourselves at my feet and asked for a painless death." Benton by now was completely wrapped in the dark energy, laboring to draw breath let alone move. Morph raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak the triggering rune for the deadly spell, but he was interrupted by a more forceful voice's dweomer.

"_Aurora!_" Grenbien's voice seemed to echo even though they were outdoors. Morph yelped, realizing he was outlined with Light energy. He screamed as though he was burning, his agony intensifying as Grenbien brought the now glowing blade closer and closer to the sage.

The magic lessened, Benton broke into a run for the distracted opponent, shaking off the trailing enchantment with a defiant growl. The sage tried to deflect the weapons tip again, but he only managed to make sure it avoided any vital spots, the lance still finding its home in his hip.

Some of the thieves at that point went pale-faced and mysteriously fell to the ground, dead instantly. To the two ladies curiosity, something left those bodies. It looked like a blue, soft burning flame, which floated slowly from the new corpses to the cornered Morph.

Benton retreated, unsure of the mysterious beings. Grenbien, though he did not back off, made no more movement forward, concerned this may be an attack. Morph laughed manically, his face still contorted with pain, as the blue flames touched his body. They did not burn skin, as the four had expected, but instead seemed to be absorbed into his skin. All traces of the sage's pain seemed to almost completely fade away. Still limned in glowing energy, Morph began chanting again.

Benton ran to attack again, trying to shake off the still pursuing energy, but Morph decided to make the upstart his first target. He raised his hand and spoke the previously unspoken rune: "Flux!" Benton screamed as the cords tightened and then exploded. The teenager fell to his knees, blind with pain, and then he only felt the sensation of falling…

Grenbien came charging in, prepared to slice the enchanted sword through the bastard's neck. Something stopped him, and he realized that Morph was chanting again, but he wasn't looking at him. No, the sage's gaze was centered on…

"The women!" he cursed and ran in front of the two girls as Morph cried out his next enchantment, sending a fireball careening for them. Walter got his sword up to block, hoping the magic would fend off the assault. The fire flew for the warrior, then remarkably ducked under the blade and ignited on contact with his gut.

A scream, a pillar of fire, then the last thing Grenbien could remember of that day was the fast-approaching ground…

Morph laughed louder as the aura finally dissipated and began slowly advancing for the two cowering girls. His mirth was quickly robbed as he felt a disturbance in the air. He looked to the side, where a quivering arrow had imbedded itself in the wall of a nearby house just past and unflinching bandit's head. On the rooftops, a female figure could be seen fitting another one to her shortbow.

A second figure slowly ambled past a breach in the bandits, made by the sudden death of a few of them, to the battle field. The newcomer, a cloaked man, shook his head and turned to Morph.

"I do apologize, good sir," he began, "but such wanton destruction is not what I normally go by the wayside. Please withdraw before I am forced to take negative action on you."

Morph laughed, and the bandits, as if on a silent signal, closed in the circle so they were again closed in, "Negative action? Sir, you are outclassed! I offer you no chance to take back your words; you will d…"

His boasts were cut short as the cloaked man cried out, "Nosferatu!" Several of the bandits fell to the ground, blue fires forcefully torn from them, but instead of going to Morph, they floated up to the sky. The woman planted an arrow in the surprised sage's side as he looked with despair at the fleeing flames.

"You are the one who is outclassed!" the man yelled, cloak fluttering on an unfelt breeze, "You use your skills recklessly, and you toy with human life! For that, you will find no mercy! Know the wrath that is Bartholomew Cantus!" As the woman fitted a third arrow and prepared to fire, Bartholomew was already beginning his chant. Morph cried out as black tendrils of energy pinned him in place. "_FLUX!_"


	4. The Will to Live

**Chapter Four**

_The will to live_

Morph cried out as the spell ignited, in the same way Benton was taken out, to the sage's dismay. He felt another thump as an arrow found his shoulder, but before he could even begin to react, he was weighted down again by black tendrils. "Wait!" he screamed, "Why are you fighting me? We both study the same thing!" Despite himself, he couldn't keep a pleading tone out of his voice, "We can help each other, you know. All you have to do is…" His restraints tightened, and his next plea was lost in an agonizing scream that only came out as a gurgle.

"Silence!" Bartholomew screamed, "'Studying the same thing?' Do not try to place me on the same level as you, distasteful scumbag. Taking the lives of innocent people, commandeering the bodies of those who did nothing against you, harvesting human souls for personal benefit… You are a perversion on mankind itself. Spare your breath for pleas for life; death is all that awaits you."

Morph flailed and struggled to get out of bondage, wincing as an arrow flew past his face. He thrashed and screamed, trying to find some escape from the cloaked stranger. A moment of inspiration flashed across his face. He pulled an item from his robes and began a chant, trying hard to ignore the flashes of pain as the tendrils tightened further.

"Sierra!" The cloaked man yelled, "He's casting, stop him please!" The woman fitted another bolt and promptly fired for the sage. The projectile whistled through air and landed with a thunk against skin.

Unfortunately for the Archer, the skin was not Morph's. One of the thieves had stepped in and took the missile. However, if the man felt any pain from the arrow still quivering in his throat, he never showed it; he still had that confident sneer splayed across his face even as he fell.

Morph gave one final thrash, shaking off the energy holding him in place. Knowing that any freedom would only be temporary, he reached out for empty air to catch a staff that seemed to fall from the sky at that moment, "Foolish shaman, I command thee to fall silent!" he called, his vigor renewed by this faint flicker of hope.

Bartholomew gasped, "Oh, dear… Flu-!" He grabbed for his throat, as if something was wrong, mouth open as if he were screaming. He leaned back and bellowed, but no sound came out.

The magic encasing Morph finally dissipated, but his happiness was short lived as yet another arrow sunk into his thigh. He tried to hobble off, clenching the item in his free hand so hard, he would have bled if he could do that. Almost there, he thought, just a few more seconds and I can escape…

Another pang of dread attacked him as he turned around. The child with the lance was back up, pulling himself shakily to his feet. The lady with the spell book had finally come around and was casting, the woman on the roof was aimed for his throat, and even the man with the blessed sword was starting to stir. And all the while the shaman-the blasted shaman! - was coming for him now, carrying a borrowed club from one of the bandit corpses.

Fear began its work contorting his features now. He held the clenched object to his face, "Take me home!" he pleaded, "Take me to the Isle! Anywhere! Please!"

"You… bastard!" Benton broke into an awkward run, forgoing the spear altogether, just lurching forward and charging straight for the sage.

The artifact began to glow, to Morph's relief. He tossed it to the ground, and was gone in a flash of light. Benton swung at empty air and, really only planning to get in that one shot, hadn't the strength or balance to prevent sprawling to the ground.

Bartholomew shook his head, then tried his voice again, finding to his relief that the spell's effects were already wearing off. He turned to Sierra, "Perhaps I should leave it to you to explain to the children what has happened, if it is not too much of an impediment, I myself am feeling rather woozy after that encounter, so perhaps I'll… I'll…" Before he could say any more, his strength failed him and he joined the masses on the ground.

**Halfway across the world…**

The ravens knew instinctively to fly away not a few moments before the air began to twist and contort above the dilapidated ruins of a formerly grand building. From that disturbance, Morph was chucked out as unceremoniously as a giant spits out a seed.

He looked up, at the dais raised right in front of his nose, to the black iron cauldron and the wealth of souls trapped inside. He had to move quickly; he could feel his life-force on its last strenuous strains. Growling away the excruciating pain, he dragged himself up the stairs and threw one arm over… and waited. The minutes became an hour, and Morph was worried that if he couldn't get a soul soon…

Suddenly his worries were put to rest as he felt the familiar warmth of human soul brush past his hand. He grabbed onto that warmth like a tangible thing and pulled out his prize, a glowing blue fireball, not unlike the ones he put to use at the village. As soon as the flame left the relative safety of the cauldron, Morph's mind was assaulted by a familiar keening, a lower one this time, that made his teeth chatter. It was normal, he told himself for the hundredth time. He convinced himself that it was just an effect of the souls leaving the conduit. With a flick of the wrist, he silenced the keening forever as it landed in his mouth.

Morph's face finally softened, his panic and anxiety finally wearing off. He began laughing, slow and soft at first, but picking up in speed and volume, to the point where the ravens, who by now had decided to return confident that the danger was over, had all scattered once more from the crazed man. His mirth didn't last long, though, and soon his shoulders were bobbing up and down not in laughter, but in a bizarre parody of sobs.

"Too close…too close…too close…" he kept repeating. He had come so close to death, so close…He didn't want to die; he had taken so many steps to stay alive, had even opened his creator's tome and found the secrets to the harvesting of Acquiescence to use human souls to fuel his body, but it wasn't enough. He could feel it; his form was unstable ever since he first came to be, and no matter how many souls he collected, he would only be delaying the oh-so-inevitable.

Despite all that, his fear of dying far outweighed logic, and he resolved to hold the entire world's life in his hands before he would die. He rose to his feet, moved to an outcropping where once a battlement stood, and though he had no physiological need for it, he slept.

**Back in the village…**

"Eeeeeek!"

Walter sat bolt upright at the sound of Nora's voice, but he soon realized his blunder when the stars finally stopped obscuring his vision. He rose to his feet gingerly, breathing heavy the whole way up. "Nora-Agh!" he stumbled as the effort required to shout out brought another flash of pain wracking through him. "Strength, man, strength…" he muttered before slowly hobbling to where the three ladies had gathered, using his weapon as an improvised crutch.

"I-I think he's dead!" Nora wailed, staring at the cloaked man who had promptly fell to the ground.

The woman named Sierra shouldered her bow, "No, he's all right, kid. He's just asleep for a little bit."

Sylva spoke next, "'Just asleep'? Are you mad? Look at him! He's…" Her next words were interrupted by a loud, uneven snore from the body on the ground, "…snoring really loudly." She finished

Sierra sighed, "He's been like this forever, gets all worked up at around the same time every day, and then just gets t' snoozin' wherever he is when he finally cools down. Ev'ry. Single. Day! I tell ya, I'd just 'bout go nuts weren't fer the fact he's so darn cute when he's sleepin'!"

As if in response, Bartholomew began muttering and rolling over in his sleep, "No, no, you do me too much an honor with your praise… Oh, I've learned so much under your tutelage, Master Canis, and I cannot say enough words to show my gratitude…"

Sylva frowned, "Uh, perhaps you could explain a few things… our friend's sleeping habits non-withstanding."

Sierra nodded, "Yeah, reckon I should. Now where ta start…"

_Guys and gals, I would like your opinions, leave a review. Any thing I need to improve, let me know! That's it... TaleForge out!_


	5. Aftermath

**Chapter Five**

_Aftermath_

"He calls 'imself Morph."

Nothing had moved in the town center. No villagers moved about; in fact, none had been even seen, though the houses were obviously no longer guarded. The remaining brigands weren't moving. They stood as still as statues, still sneering and smiling, which added a surreal air, as though time had utterly frozen. Sierra, among the battered survivors (still awake, of course) was the only one not unnerved. She sighed and continued.

"Apparently he's some kinda experiment gone awry. Now I don't know none of the details myself, but Bartholomew 'ere says it was somethin' they dug up from one o' dem ruins, what was formerly th' lair o' some baddie."

Walter sighed, "When you say that you do not know much… you shouldn't have neglected to say that your information was vague enough to only be slightly helpful."

Sierra wrinkled her nose, "Well now, aren't you a bag of mirth! I'm tryin' to help ya'll out s'best I can; least you could do is mind yer manners an' act like a proper gentleman."

Walter bristled, but sighed and said nothing. Sylva was next to break the silence, saying "Do you know what Morph wanted with this village?"

Sierra shook her head, "Didn't look like he was after summfin' here, guess it was just th' closest croppin' of souls. He uses 'em fer summfin', though it's beyond my ken what i' is." Her attention was averted to Benton, who was struggling to get back up, "Aw, hon, don't go nowheres. I haven't even given ya no salves; you'll just hurt yerself if'n ya get ta' squirming."

Benton pulled himself to a seated position, laboring to draw breath, "Got…no choice…" he rasped, "Others…still in… houses… captured… need help… fast… gotta…free them…"

Walter turned his ire on the panting boy, "Stay down, Tempuer! Think about it; if anyone was held captive in their own homes, they would have left when the guards left their posts. Don't waste your energy looking for your friends. By now, they are likely all slain. If any survived, let them come to you, but don't push yourself further than necessary on a fool's errand."

The ensuing silence weighed heavily on the others. Benton slumped back to the dirt resigned. Sylva leaned against a wall for support, realization and grief taking the strength from her legs. Sierra made an obscure hand gesture, muttering as if in prayer. Nora's face remained impassive, though her eyes angled towards the ground.

And then the silence was broken… by the sleepy ramblings of Bartholomew.

"Master Canis… no, no… I am not deserving… such praise… it was honestly nothing…please, I do not require such commendations… from one as legendary as you are…"

Walter raised an eyebrow, "What is he talking about?" Despite himself, he couldn't help the slight edge of amusement in his voice.

Despite _her_self, Sierra chuckled, "Aw now, ain't that the sweetest thing? Lil' guy's havin' that dream 'bout his idol again. Know what I like t' do? I like ta mess 'round with him while he's sleepin'"

"Hmm… no, of course not… anyone could have figured that out with train… oh, master Canis… you intend to make me arro…gant…"

Sierra knelt next to the sleeping shaman, putting on her best swooning lady act, "You're wrong, lord. It takes a real genius to figure out what you did."

Bartholomew blushed and shifted slightly, "Such a wonderful thing to say… I don't deserve praise from such… a lovely lady."

Sierra giggled, an uncharacteristically juvenile sound coming from her, "Oh, master 'Mew-mew'!"

Sylva snickered, "'Mew-mew?'"

Sierra turned away from Bartholomew, who at this point was a deep scarlet and fidgeting, and explained in hushed tones, "It's a term o' endearm'nt he wants some girl to call 'im someday."

Walter tried hard to keep his expression straight and serious, "Come on now, we don't have time to play around. We still need to tend to Tempuer and do something about these…"

"Whozat?" Bartholomew mumbled, "Master Canis, I didn't know you… invited Oswin here."

Benton eased slowly back into a seated position, the effort leaving him winded. He stared silently at the statuesque bandits, still standing in a ring around the town square, still smiling derisively, still staring blankly at the very center. A wind blew through the town at that moment, and all the bandits swayed, but otherwise made no motion.

One of the thieves swayed further than the other, Benton observed, and suddenly began to lurch sideways. It was _then _that it moved; the bandit moved out his leg to stop himself from falling, and held that pose for a moment. Then, to Benton's horror, he straightened, turned towards _him, _and drew the sword sheathed at his side, marching forward resolutely, still with that sneer splayed across his face.

"Trouble!" Benton cried hoarsely, "They're coming!"

Everyone spun around (Except Bartholomew, who turned over in his sleep muttering about "Noisy crows")

"Nora! Tempuer's girl! Sierra!" Walter barked, "Get back behind me, now!" Walter brought his sword to bear, becoming Grenbien once more, and despite the pain wracking his body, charged passed Benton and swung with all his weight.

The bandit held the sword one-handed; it would have been difficult to parry a two-handed strike with a blade as heavy as Grenbien's. When the brigand brought the sword to bear, however, he made no motion to side step or repel his opponent's sword, resolving instead to attempt to stop Grenbien's attack completely.

Grenbien carried the attack through, and, unsurprisingly, the brigand's sword was thrown from his hand and Grenbien's attack connected with lethal force.

"More are coming!" Benton reported, trying to get to his feet. Indeed, more bandits were beginning to twitch and move, and several had already draw weapons, marching with uniform resolve towards them.

Grenbien cursed, hefting his sword to a defensive position and squaring his shoulders. He side-stepped the first aggressor's axe and responded with a swipe that laid him low. A larger bandit swung downwards with a war-hammer. Grenbien slashed upwards, cleaving the handle and taking the hammer head off. Up went Grenbien's hand to catch the heavy metal head, and then down it swung, sending the now useless weapon part crashing into its owner's face. The warrior brought his sword to bear in the next motion, barely halting a slash from a third brigand.

And it was there that Grenbien's momentum failed. A spasm of pain coursed through his whole body, and every muscle locked up. The bandit swordsman wasted no time, sending his foot rocketing into Grenbien's gut. A fourth swung his fist into Grenbien's face, sending him sprawling to the ground. The swordsman had his blade up and began advancing for the now prone warrior.

"Walter!" Nora cried out. Sierra fitted an arrow to her bow, and without taking time to aim let loose. The swordsman took the bolt in the chest, and at the short range between Sierra and himself, the speed of the missile was enough to knock him off his feet. The unarmed bandit kept advancing, but was quickly halted when his face met with a malignant fireball.

Sierra cursed as she pulled back on her bowstring and aim, "I'm thinkin' we're in a bit o' a sit'iation here." More bandits were moving, and though there weren't that many left, Sylva was clearly showing strain from everything that happened today, and Sierra had her last arrow on her string. Benton tried futilely to stand, but he knew he couldn't do much of anything. Grenbien struggled on the ground, cursing himself loudly. Nora whimpered behind them. It was then that they heard the voice.

"Sorry I'm late. Do you by chance need my help, my lovelies?"

Someone brushed past them, running flat out for the group of remaining bandits. The first was caught off guard, and received a punch to the face for his inattention. The mysterious man landed another blow; this time to the gut, then swung his fist in a backhand to his opponent's face, dropping him at last. Sierra focused, firing off her last bolt into the back of a bandit that became distracted by the newcomer.

The stranger turned and offered a simple, "Love ya, babe!" by way of thanks before turning his attention to his next opponent.

Sylva straightened, "I've seen him before! Who is that?"

Sierra frowned, shouldering her bow, "Ya'll can reminisce later. Get t' helping 'im now!" Sierra grabbed the nearest weapon; a sword dropped by one of the bandits, and moved to Grenbien, "Can ya stand?"

The stranger smirked confidently, reaching into his pockets, "Sorry, guys, but I try not to dance unless it's with one of my lovelies." He pulled his hands out of his pockets and threw their contents all around in front of the advancing throng. The bandits moved forward, seemingly oblivious to the stranger's action.

Sylva had the runes of a spell just about to leave her lips, when the battlefield lit up. The ground in front of the stranger lit up as the bandits triggered the trap, and the sound of myriad tiny explosions greeted her ears. When the smoke cleared, not a single bandit was left standing, and the ground had become pitted from the explosives.

The stranger turned around, dusted himself off, and happily sauntered to the girls, "I'm so very sorry that you three were in danger, but you know how we heroes work; showing up in the nick of time just before anyone important gets seriously hurt."

Benton growled, "'Anyone important'? What about me and Grenbien?'"

Sylva nodded, "Um, thank you so much for your…" Suddenly her face hardened, "You!" she exclaimed, "You're that."

The stranger chuckled, "Sorry about earlier, my lovely; I was serious when I said I intended to become a hero for a change." He winced, "You still didn't have to roast me, though!"


	6. The Aftermath of the Aftermath

**Chapter Six**

_The aftermath of the aftermath_

Walter got up on his elbows, wincing as his muscles locked up again. Sierra knelt down

and put a hand on his shoulder, which the stubborn warrior shrugged off with a growl.

"Pathetic," he admonished, "To have to be saved, and by you people." With effort, he managed to get a leg under him and rise to a kneel, "I failed to protect you three. Bring me a crutch, will you?"

Sierra placed the sword in his hands, "C'mon now, it ain't no big deal." She cajoled, "Y' actually did pretty good, c'nsidering ya got hurt n' all b'fore."

To that the warrior growled, "Pretty good does not excuse the fact that I failed, and because of that, you and the girl traveling with Tempuer were forced to take action."

Sierra frowned, "Wha', were ya worried us lil' ladies couldn't look after ourselves?"

Walter grunted, rising unsteadily to his feet and leaning with his full weight on the sword. "It's not that. Women should be kept out of the fighting as much as possible. If I can't be trusted to keep you safe, then it is my folly as a man." He slowly hobbled for the battlefield, scanning around for his dropped sword.

Sierra snorted, "'Zat so?" she shook her head, more annoyed inside than she let on, and strode to where the others were gathered. The newcomer was talking with Sylva, who seemed to be holding herself in check. Benton was up and moving, checking the houses despite being told not to. Nora stayed with Sylva, but looked as though she wanted to join Walter more. Bartholomew, surprisingly, had managed to sleep through that whole affair and still snored lightly.

"What's the story, ya'all?" she asked Sylva and the newcomer, then turned to the latter, "We never got around t' thankin' you, by the way, Mr.…"

The stranger turned to Sierra and sketched a bow, coming up in a fluid motion to take her hand. "My lady, I am known to friend and foe alike as Eisner." He gently pressed his lips to the back of her hand, "And for presenting before my eyes such a rare beauty as yours, it is I who should be thanking both you and whatever act of fate brought us here."

Sierra chuckled, "My, don't you know yer way 'round a phrase."

Sylva frowned, "Don't humor him, Sierra," she said venomously, "He's an incorrigible lecher."

Eisner put on an elaborate display of shock, "Why, madam!" he gasped, "You wound me, honestly you do. To think you could honestly grant me such a despised title, and with little introduction, and after I had taken the risk to save you. Have you no morals, no gratitude?"

Sylva flared, "You're one to talk of morals! Taking advantage of my fear like that! Asking…"

Benton was at Sylva's side at that moment, "What's going on here?" He turned to Eisner, "What's this about taking advantage…?"

Eisner held his hands up resignedly, "I honestly have no idea what she's talking about. I certainly didn't say I wanted to take advantage of anyone."

Sylva bristled, "You lying bastard! Are you going to deny that you said…?"

"Said what?" Eisner leered, "My memory must have faded after that little fireball to the chest earlier. I don't recall ever saying _anything _to the effect of what you must think I asked of you."

Benton squared his shoulders, "All right, stop messing around with Sylva."

Eisner laughed, "Right, _I'm _messing around with _her_! What's it to you anyway? Are you her brother?"

"I'm not," Benton replied evenly.

"I see. So you're her cousin?"

"No."

"Asked to look after her by someone?"

"No." Benton was beginning to lose patience.

Eisner smirked. "Then… you must be…her boyfriend?"

Benton and Sylva both froze and flushed. Eisner began to laugh. "My first guess, actually," Eisner drawled, "Ah, what wonders springtime does to the unwary child's heart."

Benton stammered, "Sh…she's not…I mean, we… we aren't…"

Sylva had equal luck contributing, "I am not…I…he…"

Sierra sighed, "All right, kids," she said, moving to usher Benton away, "This young man here needs t' get some salves on 'im 'fore he keels ov'r. Now, you wait 'ere, n' I'm gonna fetch th' other nimrod." She turned to Nora, "Hon, maybe you could lend a hand?"

Sierra led Benton and Nora away, leaving Eisner and Sylva alone. Eisner made as if to say something, but Sylva made a rude noise and turned away. She made her way past a fallen body (repressing a shudder all the while) and knelt down by Bartholomew.

Eisner followed but did not kneel, "What's up with him?" he asked, pointing to the shaman, "He doesn't have a scratch on him."

"Stop following me!" Sylva growled through gritted teeth.

Eisner strode around to kneel at Bartholomew's other side, looking down at him as he spoke. "I lead, ma'am, not follow. You just happened to approach something of interest to me." He frowned, "Perhaps you could at least indulge my curiosity. I asked why this man is out of action."

Sylva's face softened, but only slightly, "He's not hurt," she explained, "Sierra said he falls asleep like this every now and then."

"Is that so?" A smile flashed across Eisner's face, "Well, we certainly can't have that, especially since he could be helpful right about now." He slowly raised his hand, and then suddenly brought it down to Bartholomew's face, pinching his pointer and middle fingers over the shaman's nose.

"Now cut that out!" Sylva protested.

Bartholomew started, paused, and then thrashed violently for his nose's freedom. He wrenched his nose out of Eisner's vice grip, and sat bolt upright. "Agh," the shaman blankly gazed at his surroundings, then finally regarded Eisner with a warm smile. "Good morning," he began amiably, "While I don't appreciate your brutish methods, I do have to thank you for waking me. Now, perhaps you could explain to me, if it's not too much trouble, why it is that the square seems to be more bedraggled than before I slept."

Eisner chuckled, "And here I thought no one would ask." He smoothly brought his hand to a hidden pocket on his tunic and showed to the two of them a small brown object between his first two fingers.

"Ant mines," he explained, "Nasty little buggers. They don't pack the same punch as their full-sized partners, but scatter enough of them around and your enemies are sure to get more than their pride hurt."

Bartholomew regarded the strange object incredulously, "They can fit magic power into something so small? That is unbelievable."

Eisner replaced the mine on his person, "Yeah, it's incredible how much intuition our scholars can expend finding more effective ways to kill one another, isn't it?"

Sylva scowled, "That's not a very nice thing to say."

Eisner rose to his feet, suddenly very grave, "I leave my romantic notions for my lovelies, love. No one gets anywhere being an optimist."

Bartholomew pulled himself up as well, offering Sylva his hand, "Sage advice, my friend, sage," he said to Eisner, smiling to Sylva, "What fortune to meet such a philosophical person here today, eh?"

Sylva took the hand offered to her, flashing an angry look Eisner's way. Eisner smirked at his little private victory.

The three made their way to the others. Both Benton and Walter sat quietly, side by side and bare-chested, while Sierra and Nora tended to them. Sierra had just finished dressing Benton, who was covered in bruises, while Nora applied ointment to Walter's singed back.

"Well," Sierra said as she stood back from her work, "Ya'al're lucky there weren't that many bad cuts, r' we'd've not had much time to deal with 'em 'fore they festered ." She helped Benton up, "Now you don' do nothin' stupid while you got that on, ya hear?"

Benton stretched, testing the anointed bandages, and then silently donned his old tunic. "I'm going…" he said at length, "to look for survivors."

Sylva piped up, "I'll go with you." Benton said nothing, just nodded, and together they walked.

Walter was about to protest, but Sierra stopped him. "Let 'em go, Mister Man," she admonished.

The warrior growled, "It's a pointless journey. If anyone had survived…"

"They'd've escaped when they got the chance, I know hon," Sierra finished, "But think about it. They coulda be the last ones here. There coulda been more. Either way, hon, they gotta find out fer themselves."

"Too true, Sierra," Bartholomew agreed, "Even if no one is left but them, which seems unlikely indeed, simply telling them they're alone won't do them any good."

Eisner sighed, "So, worst case scenario, those kids get their romantic sides forcibly taken from them. Man, this is shaping up to be a wonderful day."


	7. The Muster

It turned out that Walter and the others were half-right.

Looking in the houses, Benton and Sylva discovered that there _were _survivors; many were locked in the houses with no way of escaping, and many were too afraid to leave when presented with the opportunity.

However, when all the survivors were brought to the village square, Sierra voiced the concern that everyone else instantly realized.

"Why, there ain't a grown-up soul 'mong these kids!"

She spoke the truth; every person gathered together there were of varying ages, teens, children, even the cries of infants could be heard. But of the remaining villagers, it seemed that Benton and Sylva were among the oldest.

"Can't be…" Sylva gasped, "There has to be at least one adult here! Oh, there just has to be!"

Eisner marched out of the town hall, his expression dire as he wiped his hands on a stained rag. "If it's adults you're looking for, I think I may have found all of them in there."

Sylva tried to push past him. "Are they all right? Where…?"

Eisner grabbed her and put her at arm's length, but wouldn't meet her gaze. "Sorry, love. You don't want to go in there. Not something we should be exposing you to."

"Let me go! If this is some kind of joke…"

"Sylva!" Benton was at her side, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Keep your voice down; the other villagers don't need an excuse to panic."

Sylva opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again and nodded. She backed out of Eisner's grip and both teens made their way to Sierra and Walter, who were both encompassed in their own conversation.

"Without any elder 'round here, these kids won' last th' season," Sierra whispered.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Walter crossed his arms and kept his gaze on the children. "The local garrison needs to be informed, and I have no intention of watching a bunch of kids for heaven knows how long."

"We could ask th' nearest village t' take 'im in."

Walter shook his head. "We can't transport so many. Besides, no farming village would accept so many children; it'd be nigh impossible to feed them all."

Benton spoke up. "Can't the Duke do anything about it? We could ask him to send some soldiers and farmers to help get the village back together."

Walter's reply was an exasperated sigh. "We could ask him, but even if he listened (Which, given the disposition of the gentry lately, who knows?) it would take a while for anyone to show up. We couldn't expect these kids to keep it together that long."

Benton smiled. "Don't underestimate my friends." He took a step forward towards the group. "Harlan! Where are you? _Harlan!_"

From within the group, someone called back. "Whozat? Benton?" A teenage boy of medium build emerged and closed the gap between them. "What's going on?"

"We're going to go see the Duke; how do you feel about being in charge of the village for a while?"

"What?" Harlan fell back a step. "Me? Take over the village? But I can't… I mean… I-I could, but… but I…"

And he says I underestimate them, Walter thought dryly.

Benton patted the air with his hands. "Harlan, relax. Listen, as far as we know, the larder wasn't touched, and should have enough food to keep you guys fed for a long time. Just make sure it doesn't run completely dry, keep the other kids from panicking, try and maintain some of the fields, et cetera."

Harlan opened his mouth in protest, but Walter spoke first. "Listen, Harlan was it? Right now it's a godsend that these kids haven't begun to panic and run around like pack animals on stampede. Rest assured, however, that this godsend will wear off. When that happens, they are going to defer to someone, and that someone is going to have to be you for now. It will do no good if you show them you're just as scared, do you understand?"

Harlan said nothing for a long time, constantly looking back to the children. "All right," he said at last, "tell me again what I need to do."

Eisner held the rag over his face as he skirted around the fallen inside the town hall. He stopped behind Bartholomew, and gazed at the book in the shaman's hands.

"The town ledger?"

The shaman nodded, and then cast a sad eye over the bodies. "They are going to have to be burned; there are too many for burials."

Eisner grimaced under the rag. "Right. So we cart the bodies outside and…"

"No, that would take too long. That and it would unnerve the children. 'Tis better if we move the brigands in here."

"You mean…"

"I do." Bartholomew gazed up to the rafters, "This place will be the pyre. We should prepare accordingly."

That night, the entire town gathered outside to watch the town hall burn to the ground. The building, thankfully, was a fair distance apart from other buildings, so there was no worry that the town would catch fire. Eisner, Bartholomew, and Sierra, however, were still on alert.

Sylva wailed; Walter tried to comfort her, but found he couldn't say anything. Eventually he stalked off to find Benton and Harlan standing together. He put a hand on both of their shoulders. "The children still defer to you," he advised, "Don't shed any tears while you're in their sight; save them for when you're alone.

With that he walked off. The boys turned to face each other, both holding back tears. "I don't need to cry," Benton announced defiantly.

Harlan looked back to the fire. His voice broke. "Neither do I…"

And they both stared at the impromptu cremation, stubbornly holding back tears.


End file.
